leave all your love and your longing behind
by hopelessromantic0707
Summary: "I'm a big girl, Castle." The smile she shoots in his direction before pushing into the interrogation room is weak and doesn't reach her eyes. -slight spoilers for 'Knockdown'


Title: leave all your love and your longing behind

Spoilers: The interrogation scene in 'Knockdown' (3x13)

Disclaimer: Don't own Castle, no matter how much I love it. 'Off the Map' isn't mine, either.

Author's Note: I was watching the promo for 'Knockdown' (again) and this is what my brain spit out. Enjoy!

* * *

"Are you sure you're up for this, Beckett?"

She hears his question, feels the concern embedded within each word and it's all she can do to keep herself together, keep from breaking in two.

She can't break, not yet. Not when the answers she needs are right in front of her.

"I'm a big girl, Castle." The smile she shoots in his direction before pushing into the interrogation room is weak and doesn't reach her eyes.

He follows behind her, not mentioning the fact that her evasion techniques need a litte work. (Or, maybe, his Beckett radar has simply risen to a new level of awesome.)

* * *

It feels like she's been in this room, with this man, for days.

In reality, it's been exactly thirty-four minutes.

They're at an impasse; he won't give up any information, won't even admit to ever having seen her mother, and she can't bring herself to ask the same series of questions, yet again.

She takes the picture out of the file folder in front of her (the picture she swore she wouldn't have to use) and slides it toward him.

"Tell me you don't remember her." The words sound strange in her mouth, calm, as if someone else is saying them. Every nerve ending in her body vibrates, waiting for his response.

"She was pretty tasty." The way he speaks implies so much, makes horrific images spring into her brain, images of her mom being forced to...; there's a strange rushing in her ears and the world kind of tilts. Her body is still functioning, though, because in the next second she's grabbing Mr. Henderson by his jacket and shoving him into the two-way mirror.

He's laughing. The smug bastard is laughing.

She feels Castle's hand on her arm, trying to stop her, center her, but she shoves him out of the way. Her fist connects with Henderson's jaw for a split second before he backhands her, sending her back in the direction of the table.

Her wrist hits metal, hard, but she rights herself quickly. The tang of blood is on her tongue and her vision's blurred around the edges, but she spins, ready to inflict as much pain as she can.

But then Castle's in front of her, hands circling her wrists gently, keeping her in place.

The roaring in her head starts to fade, making his voice clear.

"Kate, are you ok? Can you hear me?"

She wants to laugh, because of course she can hear him (not well, but he doesn't need to know that). The worry etched on his face is genuine, though, so she says, 'Yeah, Castle, I'm good' and leaves it at that.

He takes her hand, walking her out of the interrogation room. Henderson says something about police brutality as the two of them near the door. Castle turns, never letting go of her hand.

"There's only one reason I didn't let her beat you to a pulp: she's far too pretty to expose herself to extensive bodily harm because of someone like you." His voice is hard, unwavering, and decidedly un-Castle. "Sit down and shut the hell up."

She nods to Esposito and Ryan as they pass, a silent confirmation that breaking this guy falls to them now.

* * *

How she ends up on Castle's couch watching some show about doctors in the Amazon, she can't really say.

She knows she's comfortable here; she's sure they'll talk about what happened earlier eventually, they have to. Castle won't push her; she can tell he's taking her lead. And, right now, that lead is repression (not healthy but, hey, it's one night).

"So, what'd I miss?" Castle asks, coming around the couch, handing over her ice cream (Imagine Whirled Peace- cue comments on how cute it is that she's socially conscious even in her dessert preferences) and a bag of frozen peas.

"Guy has his arm caught in a zip-line clip. Pretty gnarly."

"This from the woman who sees dead bodies at least three times a week." He laughs and she thinks that maybe it is kind of strange. "On a sidenote: are you planning on becoming a surf bum on the beaches of California? If so, why would you neglect to inform me?"

She looks over at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, Castle. Did you want to be my Moondoggie?"

The smile that he gives her in response is so unassuming, so real, that she has to break eye contact or she'll renege on her night of repression this very second.

Her gaze falls to her lap, to the bag of peas still sitting there.

"You couldn't just give me ice, huh?" she asks.

He grabs the bag and the expression on his face tells her he's disappointed; with what is anyone's guess.

"Ice won't wrap around your wrist. This will. See?" He demonstrates for her, encircling his left wrist with the cold plastic. "It's like a band-aid in a bracelet. Or something to that effect."

She smiles, takes the bag back and repeats the process on her own wrist, which has started to bruise spectacularly and turn about four shades of purple.

"Thanks." It comes out whisper-soft, but she can see he hears it. (It's for more than a bag of frozen peas and mindless TV. So much more.)

"Anytime, Dectective."


End file.
